


Are You In Love Yet?

by VCCV



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VCCV/pseuds/VCCV
Summary: Beauty and the Beast retell. Pansy curses Draco. Neville becomes his Belle.





	Are You In Love Yet?

Draco snorted in disgust and took a step away from Pansy’s outstretched hands. “You have got to be out of your mind, Parkinson,” he stated drolly. “There is no way in the seven levels of hell that I will ever marry you. You’re hideous and nasty and you make my skin crawl.” He didn’t even try to hide his sneer as her hands dropped to her side and the tears began to fall. 

“B-but I can give you an heir,” she tried her last card.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m won’t marry you to get an heir. Hell, I wouldn’t marry you even if I got you pregnant. There’s just no way.”

Pansy turned and raced out of the house, only years of familiarity with it allowing her to make it out the front gate without the ability to see past the tears in her eyes. “Fine, Draco Malfoy,” she sobbed. “If you don’t want me, that’s just fine! But I’m going to make damn sure that you have to work for whoever it is that you do want.”  
_________________________________________________________________

2 months later…

Draco seated himself on the divan, crossing his legs. “So, Pansy. What do you want now?” he asked lazily. The spurned woman just smiled. “I came to offer my condolences on your father’s untimely demise,” she said quietly. “And on your mother’s departure from England.”

Draco chuckled and moved to stand. Pansy saw the direction his eyes moved in and she waved him back down, choosing to pour Draco his whiskey herself. Draco dropped back into his chair. “I couldn’t care less, actually,” he said. “I have all the Malfoy power now, and no one I’m forced to share it with. Thank you,” he nodded as he took the snifter from her hand.

“That’s quite the sad life view, Draco,” she pointed out. 

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it is for fools who live to fall in love, Parkinson. However, for those of us who live in the real world, its just business.” He took a swallow of his whiskey and his eyes widened. They shot to Pansy’s face…Pansy’s smirking face. A cramp shot through his lower abdomen and he bent over it. “What the bloody hell did you do, bitch?” he growled.

Pansy shrugged. “Sharing your life with someone shouldn’t be a duty, Draco,” she said, primly smoothing her skirt down as she stood. “It’s a privilege. One which you will not have until you realize what a bastard you are and make a move to rectify that.”

“Pansy, you bitch!” he snapped as another pain rocketed through his gut. “What did you do to me?”

Pansy smiled. “Several things actually. First, I found a dark ritual that serves to transform you into something as ugly outside as you are inside. But what you’re feeling right now? That’s your punishment for refusing to take love even when it’s offered from a child. From your child.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the three Pansys in front of him. “What?” he managed to slur.

“You’re pregnant, Draco,” she stated serenely, gathering her bag up. “It’s not a bad thing, really…the pregnancy. You’ll never change, Draco. I know that. Never. And so, you’ll never find true love and happiness. Giving you a baby was an act of mercy. That child will love you unconditionally, despite your horrid appearance. At least you’ll know some love in your wretched life.”

She headed toward the door. “Do think about naming it after me?” And the door shut behind her.  
_________________________________________________________________

Neville rolled over on the uncomfortable twin bed in the guest room and sighed. Of course, with the emergence of guests from the woodwork, the only possible thing to do was move Neville from his own room and ensconce him in the crappy closet that passed for a guest room. He rolled back over and stared out the window at the stars.

Morgan Dietrich LeBeau, son of Amelia Longbottom and John LeBeau, had shown up on Gran’s porch three nights ago. Apparently ‘Mummy’ and ‘Father’ thought there might be some eligible ladies (or even gentlemen) of refinery nearer London than their own home in Versailles. 

Neville allowed a small snort, one that couldn’t carry through the thin walls to his ‘perfect’ cousin’s ears. Refinery? What the hell was he thinking? The snort became a grin as Neville remembered the look on Cousin Morgan’s face when he realized that the ‘guest house’ was actually the main house and that the old servant woman was actually Gran. Cousin Morgan couldn’t set quill to parchment fast enough, demanding that his parents bring him back home this instant.

Unfortunately for Morgan, Amelia and John were off on A Vacation. Neville had covered up the snicker, put clean sheets on the bed in his room, moved all of his required belongings to the guest room and lugged Morgan’s crap upstairs. It took Morgan a bit longer. Eventually, Gran snagged him by the ear and tossed him on the couch explaining that A Vacation was a nice way of saying “you’re staying here, sonny-boy, so stop being an arse.”

Three days hadn’t done much for his mood. Mostly, Neville avoided the other boy. Morgan was the epitome of perfection. He was blonde, blue-eyed, well built and tanned. He was an accomplished wizard from a highly accredited school (Beauxbatons) and had ‘plans’ for his life. Apparently, that included leeching off of Gran until he either found a suitable spouse or got to go back home to Mummy.

Neville didn’t like him. Of course, Morgan didn’t like Neville much either. Neville was from the wrong side of the family. He had the misfortune of not having parents to provide for him, of having to live with his grandmother, of taking after Gran in looks and personality and of being practically a squib. Needless to say, Neville was everything Morgan wished to avoid.

Too bad he chose not to. He poked at Neville as a child with a pointy stick would torment a three-legged dog. In the past three days, Neville had broken more crockery than he had in the last six months (dropping it when Morgan continually apparated into the kitchen to scare him). He’d fallen out the window (trying to hide from Morgan) and had to be taken to the mediwizard in town. He’d been the recipient of some interesting hexes that he was sure were not taught in Beauxbatons any more than they weren’t taught in Hogwarts.

In short, Neville hoped that The Vacation would either be cut short, or by some miracle of Merlin that Morgan would suddenly find true love and move the hell out. Merlin answered Neville’s hopes a few days later…sort of. 

Morgan had been complaining for days about how boring the house was and how nothing exciting ever happened. He also happened to mention something about the being in the middle of nowhere. Neville wanted to smack him and tell him that was Gran’s point, but decided it probably wouldn’t do any good. 

So, he settled for warning Morgan that exploring the lands around the house more than likely wasn’t a good idea and left it at that. He figured that if Morgan were stupid enough to go roaming around the countryside with just a broom and his wand then Neville certainly wasn’t going to argue. After all, it allowed him to stop hiding like a frightened six year old.

Morgan merely sneered at Neville and ignored Gran’s stern look. He then kicked off into the sky, heading toward what would become Neville’s destiny.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Morgan wrinkled his nose and spat the foul tasting water out. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and pushed himself to his feet. Glancing about the darkened forest, he allowed himself a single, small, frightened moan before straightening his back and heading off again. He had to find shelter. Or at least some fresh water that didn’t taste like a hippogriff shat in it.

He’d been wandering in what he could only admit in the silence of his head was circles for the last two hours. He’d been flying at treetop level, looking for some sign of civilization, when he’d gotten distracted by a dive-bombing hawk. By the time he’d chased the thing off and ducked down where the thing couldn’t swoop at him anymore, he’d lost track of his path and hadn’t been able to pull up fast enough to avoid the huge cairn.

He’d slammed full tilt into it, crashing and rolling to the bottom. When he’d regained consciousness, it was getting dark. He’d discovered his broom shattered into kindling. Flying was out. So he decided to apparate. Unfortunately, his wand resembled his broom. So now he was lost, in the dark, no mode of transportation and no wand for apparation/calling for help/food/water/shelter.

“Bloody hell!” he screamed, slapping at the leaves of a tree he passed under. “Why is this happening to me? I just want to go the hell home!” In the process of his rant, he didn’t notice the faintly glowing fairie light until he’d flung himself to the ground again in frustration. The light winked gently and he frowned at it, watching it coalesce into a line. A line leading off through the forest.

“What the…?” he pushed up again and followed. The light led him around bushes and away from dangerous footing as though it could sense his inability to follow it into precarious places. He kept his head down, not daring to look away for fear the light would disappear and he’d be left alone in the dark again. He followed it right up to a set of huge iron gates.

His eyes widened at the sheer size of the gates and the stone wall they attached to. Then, his desperation overcame his interest. He began pounding on the gates, first with his fists and then with a good sized rock he spied lying nearby. “Hello the manor?” he bellowed. “Let me in! I need help! Open up in there!” There was a slight ‘pop’ and a diminutive house-elf stood directly in front of him.

“Can we’s help sir?” the elf bowed.

“Yes!” Morgan sighed in relief. “Tell your master that I am in need of food and shelter and perhaps a floo home.”

The house-elf cocked its head. “Master doesn’t like guests, sir,” it ventured hesitantly.

Morgan’s handsome features slid into an angry scowl. “Sir doesn’t care right now. I am in need of assistance. It is your duty as a house elf to assist those in need. Do you refuse?”

The elf wrung its hands together and looked quite distressed, but in the end, the gates swung open and Morgan stepped inside. “If sir would just step into the portkey portal,” the elf murmured nearly in tears, pointing to a small circle to the right of the gate. Morgan did so and felt a familiar tugging in his gut. A moment later, he stood in the most elaborate foyer he’d ever seen.

He curbed his desire to gawk like a plebian muggle and lifted his chin. “I require a bath, some fresh clothing and some dinner,” he demanded regally. The house-elf bowed sadly and led the way through a veritable maze of hallways to a suite of rooms. Morgan barely managed to keep his lower jaw against his upper as he passed more riches in those few hallways than he’d seen in most museums.

The elf bowed again and gestured to a door off to the right of the room. “Sir can bathe in there. We’s will have clean robes laid out on sir’s bed when he is done. Just call for Gillum when sir is ready for dinner and we’s will take sir downstairs.” Morgan waved the elf off distractedly, already eyeing the huge bathtub with a covetous glance. The house-elf Apparated away with a sigh.

Nearly an hour later, Morgan imperiously summoned Gillum back to the room and then followed the elf downstairs for dinner. He found himself in a distressingly large dining room. The table was as large as the length of his Grandmother’s kitchen. He shuddered at the thought of returning to that hovel. Rubbing his hands together, he sat with a smile and prepared to be served, as he was accustomed.

Halfway though his meal he heard a disturbance from the hallway. “Ah, perhaps that is the master of the house,” he muttered, pushing away from the table to stand in preparation for greeting. What burst through the dining room door, however, sent him back into his chair in horror.

The…thing…was nearly six feet tall. It was covered in pale fur and had…horns? The thing that really drew Morgan’s attention, though, were the huge hooked claws extending from the paw like appendages on its arms and the dagger like teeth that protruded from its snarling face. The monster advanced on Morgan and the human fell out of the chair in terror. He began scuttling backwards, babbling incoherently.

“No! Nonononono…. please! Someone…someone help me! Help! G-Gillum! Gran! Mummy! Someone…no! Please, stay away! Please…” he crawled under a small wall table and curled up into a ball, shivering. When nasty claws did not rend his flesh and horrid teeth didn’t tear at his limbs, he peeked out through the shelter of his arms.

The monster was standing with its arms crossed, staring down at him. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my home?” It demanded. 

Morgan gaped. “Y-you t-talk?” he stuttered.

“Of course I talk, you bloody fool!” the monster roared at him. Morgan gave a tiny shriek and huddled back in on himself. “I’m cursed, you nonce! I’m not a beast. I’m not going to eat you.” 

Morgan peeped back out from his arms. “C-cursed?

“Yes.” The monster continued to glare down at Morgan, but now, Morgan could see the glint of human intelligence in the grey eyes. “Who are you and why are you in my home?” the creature asked. 

“M-my name is Morgan LeBeau. I’m…I was lost,” he managed. “M-my broom broke when I c-crashed. A-and my wand too. I wandered f-for hours before finding a light that led m-me here.”

The monster sighed and let its arms drop to its sides. “And you bullied my house-elves into letting you in by slighting their hospitality, didn’t you?” Meekly, Morgan nodded. The monster growled slightly and turned away, moving toward the table. As it did so, Morgan noticed a long supple tail attached just above the monster’s arse. When the monster had seated itself…gingerly, Morgan noted…it waved a brusque claw in Morgan’s direction.

He crawled out from under small table and went to seat himself again at the larger table. “So,” the monster stated gruffly. “You demand entrance. You bathe in my bathroom; wear m- robes which do not belong to you; order my elves to prepare you food and, from what I can see, plan to spend the night in one of my rooms.” Morgan flinched. It sounded so…crass when put that way.

“Y-yes, sir,” he whispered.

“Do you not feel that I am owed some sort of compensation for this?” the monster sneered.

“O-of course you do!” Morgan hastened to agree. “W-what would you like?” he continued carefully.

He could have sworn the monster raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Perhaps I should require that you stay and keep me company.”

Morgan’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as he took in the innuendo. “No,” he whispered. “Please, anything else. Please, I beg of you.”

The monster snorted. “I already tire of your whining,” it growled. “Very well. I will permit you to leave in safety provided—“

Morgan swallowed heavily. “Provided, sir?”

“Provided that you find someone to take your place,” the monster finished with a leer. 

“T-take my place?” Morgan stuttered in shock. The monster nodded and before Morgan could agree, the monster waved a claw and murmured a phrase under its breath. He felt a tingling move through his body and he shuddered. “What did you just do to me?” he demanded, a quiver in his voice.

“I have ensured that you will comply,” was the answer. “I have placed a compulsion on you. You either provide me with a replacement, or you will be drawn back here.” The monster smirked at him again and stood in one swift movement. “Do have a good night, Morgan LeBeau.”

And the monster was gone, leaving Morgan sitting alone and suddenly not very hungry anymore. He sat for nearly an hour before a devious smile began to grace his face. Provide a replacement, eh? He could do that.  
_________________________________________________________

“Mon Dieu! It was horrible!” Morgan wailed. “I thought I was to be killed, perhaps even eaten! Oh, Grandmere, what do I do?” he dropped to his knees in front of the old woman, clutching at her wrinkled hands. “I must go back if I can’t find someone who will kill the horrid thing,” he reiterated, not really sure if the old bat had forgotten that important part.

Gran, however, twisted her mouth wryly. “Yes, Morgan. You mentioned that at least three times already,” her ancient voice croaked at him. “Well, we could put a call in to the aurors,” she cocked her head thoughtfully. “They’d probably take care of something like this fairly quickly.”

Morgan sat up a bit, all the better to let his tears fall artfully down his cheeks. “We can’t wait, Grandmere,” he shook his head, eyes wide. “The horrible thing said it must be today.” Well, perhaps not. However, the old bat would never let her precious Neville out of the house knowing help was coming soon.

Neville sat in a chair in front of the fire, alternately rolling his eyes and snorting quietly. He rather hoped that Morgan didn’t choose a career in acting. He sucked at it. Oh, there was probably a monster. And maybe it even cursed him with something. But the whole ‘must be today’ shtick? Bollocks. And wanting to eat him? Complete crap. Why would a monster that planned to eat the idiot let him go on about his business finding a replacement eatee? More than likely, the ‘monster’ was forced to listen to Morgan whine for 30 seconds and was willing to do anything to get rid of him.

It was an interesting idea. Neville wasn’t quite into the whole having sex with a monster thing, but maybe that’s not what the monster really wanted. It could have just wanted some companionship. Or maybe someone to break whatever curses it was under. Morgan always had an over inflated opinion of his own arse. He watched Morgan fawning over Gran and wanted to smack him.

He was very clear on what Morgan was doing. He knew that the idiot was out to get him killed by this monster, or at the very least lost and starved to death in the woods. What Morgan didn’t know was…Neville was planning on going without an argument. He’d seen what Morgan had been doing the last few days tearing Gran apart. She might have thought Morgan was a dolt, but she did love him. And he was the better choice for inheritance anyway. He could bring something to the Longbottom name that Neville never could.

Gran knew that. Neville knew that. But Neville also knew that Gran would fight tooth and nail to give Neville what she thought of as his birthright, even if it meant driving the Longbottom name into the ground. He smiled fondly at the old woman. Merlin, he loved that old lady. Giving a sigh, he sat up a bit.

“All right, Morgan,” he drawled. “I think we get it. I’ll go. Stop with the hysterics.”

Morgan glared death at Neville but, for once, Neville wasn’t scared. It was now a choice of staying and letting Morgan kill him eventually or running off and letting some unknown thing kill him. He grinned, slightly disconcerting Morgan. Gimme the unknown killing every time, Neville thought. “I’ll just go pack and you can give me the general directions to this House of Horrors.”

He rolled his eyes and headed upstairs, ignoring his Gran’s worried look and Morgan’s satisfied sneer.

Neville stood staring up at the huge gates. A shiver of something shot down his spine. If he weren’t mistaken, he’d call it anticipation. Morgan had left a few things unmentioned in his story of woe. First, how this House of Horrors was actually a well-to-do manor complete with protective wards on the surrounding walls. Second, he forgot to mention that there was a gigantic ‘M’ on the front gates. Neville racked his memory to remember any whose name started with ‘M’ and who appeared to have more money than God.

He could only come up with one family. “No,” he murmured. “Couldn’t be.” He was startled out of his contemplation by a ‘pop’ and he looked nervously through the bars at a small house-elf. He composed himself quickly and smiled. “Hello. I’m Neville Longbottom,” he introduced himself. “I believe your master requested someone to replace my cousin, Morgan LeBeau?”

The elf looked curiously at him, large ears twitching a bit. “Yes. Master did ask for someone else. We’s are supposed to ask if you come willingly and knowledgably?”

Neville shrugged. “I come willingly. Morgan fed me a lot of crap with his story, so I can’t say knowledgably, but I can guarantee I’m willing.”

The elf stared for a moment longer and then the gates swung open. Neville bowed slightly and stepped inside. “If sir will step on the portkey portal,” the elf pointed. Neville nodded and complied. He fought to retain his breakfast as the stomach-tugging ride ended, depositing him in a bloody huge room. The house-elf popped in a second later. “If sir will follow Gillum.”

Neville hoisted his bag and followed; gawking at everything he could get his eyes around. “So, Gillum is it?” The elf nodded. “Gillum, whose manor is this?” 

The house-elf stopped abruptly, nearly causing Neville to run over him. “W-we’s cannot tell sir that,” he whispered, looking about for something to smash his fingers in. Neville saw his intentions and hurried to reassure the little creature.

“No, no that’s fine,” he placated. “I don’t really need to know, right?” he smiled in a friendly manner at the elf. Gillum eyed him warily, but eventually returned the smile. “Can you tell me where we’re going now?” Neville asked instead.

The elf nodded vigorously, ears flopping wildly. “Sir is to be a permanent resident,” the house elf informed Neville with a sideways smile. “The house-elves must perform the Master ceremony.”

Neville frowned curiously. “What’s that?”

The little creature fell back to walk with Neville, nearly bouncing in excitement. “When a new human is brought into a home guarded by house-elves, or is born into the house, we’s must say the ritual words so the new human is master too. It’s a great honor,” he shared conspiritally. “We’s haven’t been bound to a new human in nearly 20 years.”

“And this ceremony…it’s a good thing?” Neville asked, a bit concerned at the idea of binding another creature to him.

The elf nodded. “Oh, yes. We’s love serving here. We’s gotten lonely since Master…oh! Oh, bad Gillum! Gillum says too much!” the elf began frantically smacking himself in the head. Neville dropped his sack and grabbed for the elf’s arms.

“No! Gillum, it’s okay,” he called out over the wailing. “You didn’t say anything. Really, you didn’t!”

It nearly took Neville pinning the little creature down before Gillum would agree not to hit himself anymore. When he’d calmed enough to continue, Neville held his hand just in case he decided to start smacking himself again. The elf led him into a large kitchen full of other elves. Neville’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“Crap!” he breathed. “There must be two dozen of you!”

Gillum nodded. “We’s is 25 of us.” He moved the easily manipulated Neville to the center of the room and the house-elves formed a half circle around him. “Is sir ready?” Neville nodded and waited. The elves linked hands and knelt.

“Welcome Master Neville, banish fear. You are king and master here. Speak your wishes. Speak your will. Swift obedience meets them still,” they intoned together. Neville felt a bit of magic wash over him and then the elves were up and moving again. 

“Does Master Neville wish lunch?” Gillum asked, eyes big with unshed tears.

Neville knelt worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

Gillum shook his little head. “We’s is just so happy to have another master here,” he managed to say before bursting into tears into his own hands. Neville awkwardly patted the elf on the back and looked around to see other elves similarly indisposed. 

He sighed. “Okay, I suppose I would like some lunch then.” The elves exploded in gleeful motion. Gillum herded him out of the kitchen and into a ridiculously large dining room. The elf beckoned him to sit at the head of a table big enough to seat an entire house at Hogwarts. Thirty minutes later, Neville was just finishing the last of his delicious lunch when he heard a commotion. 

He stood, thinking perhaps the house-elves were coming to escort him en masse through the manor. What came through the door, however, was entirely different. This must be the ‘monster’ Morgan had gone on about. Neville eyed it closely, cataloguing everything he saw. He didn’t spend much time on that, however, as the monster glanced up and stopped dead in its tracks.

“Longbottom?”

Neville peered intently at the creature, searching for something. “Malfoy?” he finally asked. The creature gave a huffing growl and stomped through the room to flop into a chair. Neville followed a bit more sedately and took his place again.

“How’d you know?” Malfoy sighed.

Neville couldn’t take his eyes away. “Your gates have an ‘M’ on them. And this place is like a bloody castle. Add into that how no one has seen hide nor…er, sorry,” he winced at the nearly imperceptible flinch from Malfoy. “Um, how no one has seen you in months, and I just put two and two together.”

Draco nodded, hating how fucking horrible his life was. Turned into a disgusting creature, impregnated by some god-awful potion, and now…Merlin knew how long stuck with Longbottom. 

“So, you want to tell me why I’m here?” Neville asked carefully. Draco turned icy eyes on him and glared. “Or not,” Neville shrugged.

Draco sighed. “No. You at least deserve to know that much. I’m cursed with these looks and for some reason known only to Merlin and Parkinson, I’m pregnant as well. You are here to fall in love with me so I can get back to being myself.”

Neville just stared for long minutes. “Um, what?” he finally managed. 

Draco growled. “I’m ugly and pregnant. You have to fall in love with me to break this bloody curse. After that, we can both go on our merry way and continue with our lives.”

Neville was flummoxed. “B-but…well, what about your baby?” he latched on to the only thing that made a little bit of sense.

Draco shrugged. “Don’t really care. If you like children, you can have it as a memento of your time here. Now I have things to do. Have the house elves show you to your room and then you can roam around, touring the manor. I’ll see you at dinner.” With that, Draco stood and exited the room, leaving a bewildered Neville behind. 

“A memento?” he squeaked.  
____________________________________________________________________

Neville sank gratefully into his seat several hours later. The tour had been interesting. However, he was pretty sure that he’d never remember half of the rooms the house-elves showed him and his feet hurt really badly. Just as the food appeared on the table, the dining room door opened up and Malfoy padded in. He took a seat a few chairs down from Neville and sat, frowning.

“Hi,” Neville ventured. 

Draco’s head shot up and he delivered a piercing glare. “Mmm,” he grunted noncommittally. 

“You have a gorgeous home,” Neville tried again.

“Yes.”

Sighing, Neville began to dish himself up. He noticed that Draco was not eating. “Can I get you something?” he asked.

Draco growled again, a full-fledged growl complete with teeth. “Are you placating me, Longbottom?”

Neville shook his head quickly. “No. I just thought…well, you’re not eating. Aren’t you hungry?”

Draco fell back into his chair and sighed. He held his paws up, claws glinting dangerously. “I can’t exactly hold silverware anymore,” he groused.

“Oh,” Neville said softly, eyeing the food on the table. “Well, you could have a turkey leg?” he offered. “Or a hunk of bread?”

“I’ll be fine, Longbottom,” Draco sneered. “I don’t need your pity. I’ll eat later, without putting on a show for you.”

Neville frowned. “I didn’t think you’d be putting on a show, Malfoy. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, don’t,” came his reply.

Neville sighed. “Fine.” He went back to eating. “Tell me more about this curse,” he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “A few months ago, I pissed Pansy Parkinson off. Told her I wouldn’t marry her. She offered to have my heir. I refused. She took off whining that I’d get mine eventually.” He growled at the memory. “A couple of months later, she shows up again. Says she cursed me to show on the outside what I’m like on the inside, or some such rot. Then she sneaks a bloody pregnancy potion in my drink and trots off blathering I told you so all the way. Few days later, I began to change…into this.” He waved a clawed hand to indicate his body.

“Did she say how to fix it?” Neville asked.

Draco snorted. “She babbled something about sharing my life being a privilege and finding love and happiness. I really wasn’t listening. My guts were in the process of being scrambled to make way for this bloody thing inside of me.”

Neville covered a small smile, but Draco saw it anyway. “What are you laughing about, Longbottom?” he bared his teeth. 

“Only you, Malfoy, could completely ignore what was probably the way to break this curse because you were having a tantrum.”

“I was not having a tantrum!” Draco bellowed. “I was growing a uterus!”

Neville snickered again. Draco just sighed and flopped back again. “So, are you in love with me yet?”

Neville choked on a piece of turkey. “What?” he wheezed.

“You have to fall in love with me to break this bloody curse…I think. So, are you in love with me yet?”

Neville placed his fork carefully down on his plate. “Um…Malfoy, It doesn’t work that way. You have to earn love.”

Draco snorted and waved a paw. “Bollocks. I’m a Malfoy. We don’t earn things. They’re given to us.”

Neville smiled sadly. “Like this curse and that baby were given to you?” he asked softly. Draco looked horribly annoyed. Neville sighed. “Look, I’m sorry you’re cursed. Really, I am. And I’d really like to help you out with this. But, to be honest, you look very appropriate for how you’ve treated me over the years. And it will take more than a demand to make me fall in love with you.” He felt horrible as Draco slumped further into his chair. “So, what happens if I do fall in love with you?” he forced himself to ask.

Draco shrugged. “Dunno. I suppose the curse is broken and we can just go back to our lives.”

Neville leaned forward in his chair. “Really? Even though my life will be irreparably changed by falling in love with you?”

“What are you blathering on about?” 

“Draco,” he began. “I’ll have fallen in love with you. You will be a vital part of my thoughts, my actions and my life. Leaving you would break my heart. And all you have to offer me for that broken heart is a baby you don’t want in the first place?”

Draco stood up abruptly, his chair skittering backwards. “I’m not asking you to stay in love with me, Longbottom,” he snapped. “Just love me enough to break the curse.”

“Love doesn’t work that way, Draco,” Neville insisted. “To break this curse, I’m thinking you need real love. Not the kind of love you get from a good night of shagging. You need true lasts-a-lifetime love. And I can’t honestly say that loving you to break this curse will be worth the lifetime of pain I’ll feel when you just get rid of me.”

Draco perked up, looking pleased. “So you want something to make it worthwhile?” he grinned, a rather scary application with as many large teeth as he now had. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted compensation? I can do that.”

Neville sighed sadly. “Never mind. Maybe you’ll understand someday.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine. Goodnight, Longbottom. Work on that falling in love thing. I’ll see you in the morning.” And he left.  
________________________________________________________________________

He walked along a brook, his feet crunching on the gravel path. Trees bordered the gently running water, their branches reaching down to touch the top of Neville’s head. He walked and as he walked, he thought. He thought of Draco, of his choice to replace Morgan, of what Draco wanted Neville to do. As he walked, and thought, he began to see Draco everywhere. 

He saw the blond man as he was prior to the curse, which surprised him, as he had no idea what Draco looked like prior to the curse. He remembered Draco from school, but the young man he saw now was far different. His hair had grown longer and his face harder. The boy had sneered and smiled in equal amounts…the man seemed to have forgotten how to smile.

“You will be rewarded for your efforts,” the blonde man told him. “Your every wish will be granted. I only demand that you love me.” And he walked away, moving quickly down the path. Neville tried to catch up to him, to tell him once again that one cannot demand to be loved. But he was gone. 

“…Neville. Neville. Neville. Neville. Neville. Neville.” 

Neville jerked awake to the sound of a wall clock calling his name. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and began his morning toilette. Upon coming back out of the adjoining bathroom, he really wasn’t all that surprised to find new clothes waiting for him on his newly made bed. “Thank you, Gillum,” he called softly. Quickly donning his clothing, he made his way back down to the dining room, so far the only room he could find with 75% accuracy.

Draco didn’t join him for breakfast, and Neville chose to ignore the sad twinge that accompanied that knowledge. After breakfast, he decided to explore. He chose a hallway off in a direction that the house elves had neglected to take him the previous day. The first room he came to was lined with mirrors. For the first few minutes, it was quite delightful, seeing himself from all different angles. But then uneasiness overcame him.

He knew he wasn’t much to look at to begin with. Standing in a room that reflected that over and over again to him was actually kind of nauseating, now that he was thinking about it. He made his way back to the door without making eye contact with any of his other selves. As he reached for the door handle, he spotted a chain wrapped around it. Curious, he unwound it.

It was a pocket watch. He snapped it open and saw what he could only assume was the Malfoy crest. Neville gave a soft smile and pocketed it. He moved out of the room and tried the next door. As the door opened, hundreds of eyes locked on him. He nearly jumped out of his skin until he realized that the eyes belonged to portraits.

He moved up and down the long portrait room, carefully observing each past Malfoy, looking for a trace of Draco in each one. He didn’t think he’d ever seen quite so many dour and sour faced blonde people in one place. “No wonder Draco turned out like he is,” he breathed quietly. “Just look at his role models.”

“Quite right, young man.” 

Neville squeaked and nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around swiftly to see where the voice had come from. “Wh-who said that?”

“That would be me. Up here. No, further to the right. Yes!” Neville spotted a frantically waving short-haired young man who bore a striking resemblance to the current Malfoy. “How right you are, good sir,” the portrait grinned cheekily. “The Malfoys do indeed leave something to be desired.”

“Casper, be silent!” snapped a bitter looking old woman in a tight collar and a powdered wig.

Casper stuck his tongue out and rolled his eyes at Neville. “I’m Casper Malfoy,” he bowed slightly. “And you are?”

“Er, I’m Neville Longbottom,” Neville glanced warily back at the glaring old woman.

“Longbottom?” came a voice from a few paces down. Neville stepped back to see more of the wall. “Do you know Frank Longbottom?” A girlish giggle followed. Neville found himself looking at a most lovely vision of girlhood.

“Yes,” he smiled politely, trying to look without staring. “Frank Longbottom is my father.”

The girl’s bright blue eyes lit up. “Frank married? And had a child? Who? Who did he marry?” she clasped her hands eagerly together.

“Er, he married Alice. Alice McMillan.” Neville watched in horror as the girl’s smile dropped and tears began welling up in her eyes. “Um…are you all right, ma’am?” he asked carefully.

“M-my F-Frank married Alice M-McMillan?” she whimpered. Neville looked desperately back to Casper for help. The young man in the portrait just rolled his eyes again and leaned against his frame with an interested look.

“Um…yes?” Neville tried. The girl began wailing. Neville glanced around, panicking. “Please,” he begged. “Please, stop crying. I don’t know what I said to make you cry, but I’m sorry. Please? Is there anything I can do for you?”

The girl delicately wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and blinked sadly. “You’re just as sweet as Frank is,” she whispered. “How is he?”

Neville bit his tongue and took a step back. “He’s…um…he’s, well…” Neville watched a worried look come onto her face.

“He’s dead isn’t he?” she breathed, clutching her hands against her breast.

“No!” Neville was quick to assure her, and then felt so horrible when she smiled happily. He hung his head. “My mother and father became Aurors after Hogwarts,” he said softly. The girl leaned forward, anxiously listening. “They were working against Voldemort.” She flinched, as did several other pictures in the room. “One of his Death Eaters cast the Cruciatus curse on them. They held it until my parents went insane. They aren’t dead, but they’ve been in St. Mungo’s my entire life and there they will probably stay until they die.”

He didn’t realize how much pain he’d been holding in on that topic until he was forced to share it with someone else. He pulled his hand up to his chest in a gesture not unlike the girl and tried to hold his heart in his chest. When he glanced back up, the girl was slumped at the bottom of her portrait, tears dripping off of her cheeks.

“Who?” she whispered. “Who hurt them?”

Neville shrugged. “A woman named Bellatrix Lestrange,” he said tonelessly. A shriek cracked through the room and the girl was up on her feet, rage in her every motion. “What?” he demanded, a bit frightened.

“My sister,” she raged. “My own sister drove the love of my life insane!”

Neville frowned. “Sister?” he wracked his brain for the fact he knew was floating around in there somewhere. His eyes widened when he got it. “You?” he breathed. “You’re Narcissa Malfoy?”

“Black!” she snapped. “My name is Narcissa Black.”

Neville held his hands up, warding off her anger. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant that, when I know you, you’re married to Lucius Malfoy.”

Narcissa shuddered and smoothed her hair back. “I am indeed betrothed to that man. But I do not have to like it.”

Neville hid a tiny grin. “No, ma’am. You certainly don’t.”

She wiped away her tears again. “So. Neville L-Longbottom. What are you doing here? In this den of iniquity?” Gasps of outrage were heard throughout the room as well as a cheer from Casper’s area.

“Well, actually,” Neville smiled, “Your son…er, invited me.”

Narcissa’s jaw dropped. “I have a son?”

Neville nodded. “His name is Draco. He’s my age.”

Narcissa’s lower lip trembled. “Why don’t I know that?” she murmured. “Why has he never visited me?”

Neville’s eyes started darting about again.

“Well, dear,” came yet another voice, the imperious voice of an older woman. “My thought would be that your son took after his bastard father and can’t find the time to bother with family or love.”

Neville’s head spun around and he stared across the room. “How did you—“ he glanced at Narcissa worriedly but the older woman just snorted. 

“How did I know that?” she asked, straightening her dress robes. “I know that because the bastard is my son.”

Neville gaped. “You’re Lucius Malfoy’s mother?”

“You’re my mother-in-law?” Narcissa followed on his heels.

“Indeed,” the woman replied, lifting her chin. “My name is Amelia. 

“D-do I like you?” Narcissa asked nervously.

Amelia smirked. “In the beginning you did, dear. But in the beginning, you still had a personality and a brain of your own. After a few years, you simply became an extension of Lucius Malfoy and, as so, had very little need for a meddling old woman who continued to remind you of when you were once free.”

Narcissa’s chin began to wobble. “This is horrible,” she whispered. “In the space of five minutes, I’ve learned the only man I’ll ever love is married to another, he’s a father and insane because of my sister. That I’ve married a horrible man who’s taken away who I am and that I have a son who doesn’t even care enough about me to come visit me.”

Neville stepped up to the portrait and gently touched the frame. “Don’t be sad, Lady Malfoy,” he said kindly. “I’m sure you had some amazing times as well. I mean, you were richer than dirt,” he tried joking.

Narcissa gazed sadly at him. “Please, just call me Narcissa. And if you’re anything like your father, you don’t believe that money can bring happiness do you?” she asked reproachfully.

Neville flushed and dropped his head momentarily. “No, ma’am. I don’t,” he said shamefully.

“And you said ‘were’,” she pointed out. “Am I dead?”

Neville shook his head. “No, ma’am. Lucius died recently and you decided to leave England. You left the Malfoy fortune to your son, saying you wanted none of the money for yourself. You changed your name back to Black and cut all ties with the Malfoys.”

Narcissa smiled a tiny smile. “Well, Amelia, looks like I at least got some sense in the end.”

“Yes indeed, dear,” the older woman said warmly.

“I must say,” Casper called. “This is more fun than I’ve seen in two hundred years.”

Neville turned back to him with a smile. “Why do you say that?”

“No one comes in here save the house-elves,” Casper shrugged. “No gossip, no sun, no nothing. It’s rather boring as hell.” More gasps met his comments.

Neville smiled. “Well, I could ask to have you moved somewhere else in the house,” he offered. 

Casper nearly fell out of the portrait. “You would do that?” he whispered in awe.

“No!” screeched powdered wig woman. “It’s unheard of to have a portrait moved out of the portrait room. And even if it were to happen, why would they want you of all people?” she demanded nastily. “You are only in here because of that ridiculous invention that’s cause the death of more Malfoys that I can count!”

Neville looked back to Casper. “What did you make?” he asked, wide eyed.

Casper rolled his eyes. “I helped make Veritaserum,” he snorted. “The fact that most Malfoys have way too much to hide isn’t my fault.”

Neville snickered. “Ah. Well, let me ask. If they say no, may I still come back and visit sometime?” he directed his question to Casper, Narcissa and Amelia. 

“Of course!” Casper grinned. “We’d love to have you!”

Amelia nodded. “You, at least bother to acknowledge us. That’s more than I’ve seen in the whole time I’ve lived both in this portrait and in this house.”

Narcissa smiled shyly. “I’d love to see you again. Maybe you could tell me more about Frank?” she asked hopefully. Neville nodded. “A-and do you think that…well, maybe you could…” she broke off abruptly and shook her head. “Never mind. It was stupid.”

Neville smiled sadly at her. “You were wondering if I could convince Draco to come meet you?” he asked softly. Narcissa nodded, her eyes lowered. “I’ll try. He’s going through something pretty awful right now and I’m not sure he would want you to see him like this.”

Narcissa looked up worriedly. “What’s wrong with my baby?” she demanded.

Neville hid a smile. “He was recently cursed. He’s in the form of a monster until we can find the cure.”

Narcissa held her hand up over her mouth in horror. “My poor baby,” she breathed. “You’re helping him, though, aren’t you Neville?”

“Yes. We’re working really hard on fixing him,” he hedged.

She smiled. “Well, if he has you helping him, I’m sure he’ll be just fine. You bring him along whenever he feels comfortable, all right?”

Neville nodded agreeably and lifted a hand in farewell. He exited the room and heard the arguing begin immediately. He grinned. Well, one couldn’t say he wasn’t leaving his mark on the place.  
__________________________________________________________________

Neville sat down to dinner with a smile. Helping someone today, even if it was just some portraits, really cheered him up. He was still smiling when Draco showed up a quarter of an hour into dinner. Draco moved into the room silently this time, stepping carefully though Neville could see his flinch at the sound of claws clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Evening, Draco,” Neville smiled welcomingly. Draco halted in his movement for a microsecond, a look of confusion shooting over his face, and then he nodded before taking his seat. “I spent today exploring again,” Neville offered a piece of chicken up to his host.

Draco eyed him, looking for the snickering to begin. When none was forthcoming, he gingerly took the meat and set it on his plate. “So, how did you like the mansion?” he asked politely.

Neville smiled shyly. “Well, it’s large and quite scary to tell you the truth.” Draco snorted. “But it is very beautiful.”

“Did you get the watch?” Draco continued, poking at his chicken, starving and wondering if Neville really didn’t care that Draco looked like a ravenous animal when eating. Neville nodded. “It’s a family heirloom,” Draco continued.

Neville smiled tightly and nodded again. “Then perhaps you should have kept it in your family,” he suggested softly. At Draco’s confused look, he sighed. “But it was lovely. Thank you.”

Draco appeared appeased. “And how did you like the portrait room?” He licked a claw.

Neville grinned. “I had the most interesting experience in there,” he said excitedly. “I met three of your family that actually spoke to me.” 

Draco looked impressed. “That’s rare. Most of my family doesn’t speak to anyone but other Malfoys.”

“I noticed,” Neville said wryly. “But these three were just amazing. Oh,” he flushed. “Um…they were lonely, though.” Draco attempted to raise an eyebrow. His whole forehead went up, but Neville decided against mentioning that. “I asked Gillum if I could move them to my quarters so that they could have someone to talk to and maybe a view.” He fidgeted with his fork. “Was that all right?”

Draco smirked. “If it makes you happy, Longbottom.”

Neville smiled hugely again and nodded. “Oh, definitely. They’re amazing.”

“So, which ones are they?” Draco asked indulgently, picking off a bit of the chicken breast and lifting it to his mouth.

“One is Casper Malfoy,” Neville began.

“Ah, my nefarious ancestor who chanced upon Veritaserum,” Draco stated wryly. “Well, I think you probably pleased the rest of the clan just by removing him.”

Neville chuckled. “They did seem rather pleased to have him gone. The second was your Grandmother Amelia.”

Draco’s smile disappeared. “I never knew Grandmother,” he said quietly. “Father had her sent away during the last years of her life.” 

“I’m sorry,” Neville returned, a frown appearing on his face. 

Draco shrugged. “No big deal, really. Can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

Neville just looked at him for a long moment. Draco began to feel uncomfortable with the heat of the Gryffindor’s stare. “Yes, you can,” Neville finally whispered. He continued to hold Draco’s gaze for long moments. “The third person was your mother. She’s about 15 or 16 in the portrait.” Draco flinched. “I told her about you.” Draco dropped his eyes from Neville’s.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.

Neville frowned. “Why not? She seemed thrilled to know after the initial shock.”

Draco smiled sadly. “I just…” he glanced up hesitantly. “My mother, the real one, finds me…distasteful. I suppose I just wanted to have something of my mother that…”

Neville set his fork down. “That didn’t look at you and see a carbon copy of your father?” he asked quietly. Draco flinched again. “She doesn’t. She called you her baby,” he smiled at the memory. “And told me to tell you to come see her when you’re more comfortable with the form your curse is taking.”

Draco looked horrified. “You told her I’m cursed? Did you tell her why?”

Neville shook his head. “No, Draco. It isn’t my place to tell her something like that.”

Draco glared. “It wasn’t your place to tell her anything at all about me,” he snapped.

Neville shrugged and picked his fork back up. “Nonetheless, it’s done,” he stated coolly. “If you’re so inclined, you may find her on the wall in the rooms you’ve allotted to me.” He continued to eat silently, but watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. He could see the former Slytherin vacillating between remaining angry for Neville’s presumptuousness and remembering to act politely toward the nice Gryffindor he needed to have fall in love with him. 

In the end, desperation won out. Draco cleared his throat. “So, how did you like the mirror room?” 

Another shrug from Neville. “It was nice. Just not something that sparked an interest. I suppose one has to have a certain attitude, a certain outlook to truly appreciate seeing themselves reflected over and over like that. That’s just not me.”

“But it could be,” Draco returned in an irritated tone. Dear Merlin, was this idiot boy impressed by nothing?

“But I don’t want it to be.” 

Draco’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Well what the bloody hell do you want, Longbottom?” he demanded.

“To be close to the earth. To work with plants.”

Draco’s mouth twisted to the side. “What ever for?”

Neville looked pointedly at Draco, searching for something. Draco held very still wondering if Neville would find whatever it was he looked for. Finally, “I want to open a rare plants store. One that stocks the hard to find and difficult to care for plants that are needed for healing and potions.” When Draco said nothing disparaging, Neville returned to his dinner.

“I wanted to open a Potions business,” Draco murmured into the building silence.

“So why don’t you? Surely money isn’t a problem for you,” Neville pointed out.

“Money, no,” Draco shook his head. “However, I have other obligations now that I’m the head of the Malfoy household. Playing in my potions room is no longer an option for me.” He stated it matter-of-factly and picked another piece of meat off of the chicken breast.

Neville looked at him, pity in his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

Draco growled under his breath. He was a Malfoy. He didn’t require pity from a near-squib. “So why aren’t you rooting through the dirt in your business?”

“No money,” Neville said wryly. “I don’t have the Malfoy fortune at my disposal. I’d have to buy a building and fix it up to the necessary climatic controls. Then, I’d have to purchase the plants and begin to cultivate them. Should the money appear out of thin air, I still have several years of work ahead of me before I could even open the door to sell a plant.” The slightly pained note couldn’t be hidden beneath the sardonic reply.

Draco just nodded and watched Neville finish his dinner. 

When the young man finished and pushed his plate away, Draco stood. “Are you in love with me yet, Longbottom?” he asked.

Neville smiled up at him. “No, Draco,” he said softly. “Not yet.”

Draco sighed in frustration and sketched a short bow. “Goodnight then, Longbottom.”

“Goodnight Draco.”

A few days later, Neville managed to shut the alarm off before the third ‘Neville’ ring. He made his way sleepily down to the dining room, greeting the house-elves on the way with a smile. Gillum held his chair out for him and Neville nodded thankfully as the tiny creature pushed a cup of tea towards him. 

“Thanks, Gillum,” he breathed in the wonderful smell of his favorite blend. Not that he knew what that was. Gillum had simply plied the Gryffindor at with cup after cup of tea until Neville had found one that made him nearly swoon. Each meal and teatime was now complete with a steaming pot of whatever-it-was.

“Gillum would like to show Master Neville something this morning,” the diminutive elf bobbed his ears. Neville smiled, reminding himself that the elves probably had issue with being petted, regardless of how damn cute they were. He followed Gillum through yet another huge set of hallways, ~Merlin, does this house have no end? ~ until they came to an enormous wall set with windows.

Neville could hear Gillum speaking, but the elf lost Neville’s attention as soon as the herbologist spied the Malfoy gardens. Gillum noted the dazed expression and gave a tiny smile. “Gillum will have Master Neville’s lunch brought to him,” he said softly, knowing Neville didn’t even hear him. “Enjoy yourself, Master Neville.”

Neville was lost. He discovered rare plants. He discovered illegal plants. He discovered hybrids, the likes of which had never seen the light of day. He overloaded more than once, stopping to just stare in awe at the huge amount of foliage surrounding him. Once, he even cried. He would have missed lunch had Gillum not led him to it with strategically placed small pots of Puffapods.

Gillum came again at tea time, but Neville could not be dissuaded from his study of the hybrid ‘tentacula snare’, as he had dubbed the venomous plant, long enough to take even a sip of the drink or a bite of a biscuit. The next time Gillum came, he brought backup.

Draco glared at the back of the annoying house-elf that dared interrupt his reading. Bloody annoying little bastard had the audacity to refuse to leave when ordered! He just kept piping “Master Neville, sir. He needs his dinner,” and peering up at Draco with those irritating big eyes of his. And so, here Draco was…following a bloody house-elf through his own manor on a search for a ridiculous excuse of a Gryffindor who didn’t have the good sense to fall undeniably in love with Draco Malfoy and break this bloody curse!

Draco ground his teeth together, a decidedly more difficult task now that his teeth included fangs, and shoved the Greenhouse door open. “Longbottom!” he bellowed. 

Nothing. 

He frowned, looking around the large enclosure. “Did he leave already, Gillum?” he demanded.

Gillum shook his head. “He’s here, sir. Over there,” a long finger pointed to the far corner. “He’s looking at the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, sir.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and began pushing through the foliage. “Longbottom!” he barked again. This time, Neville heard and his head came up like a startled deer. He spotted Draco coming his way and he smiled, a brilliant unfettered action that actually caused Draco to falter in his step. The Malfoy quickly resumed his stride, glancing to see if Gillum had noticed his misstep. The bloody elf was smirking. He reminded himself to order the obnoxious thing to iron its hands later.

“Draco!” Neville called out, carefully stepping out of his cave of green. “These gardens are amazing!” 

Draco stopped walking as the other man made his way to him. “Bloody fucking smiling Gryffindors,” he murmured under his breath, wondering what the hell it was about Neville’s sheer joy at such a simple thing that made that particularly irritating ache in his chest. “Longbottom. You’ve been in here for the last 12 hours. Planning on coming out soon?” he drawled instead.

Neville flushed sheepishly and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry. Did you need me for anything? Because these gardens are just amazing. I could spend a week in here and find something new each day!”

“Yes, well,” Draco hmphed, turning on his heel. “Dinner is ready.”

“Yes,” the Gryffindor returned, his voice falling a bit. “I’m sorry. I’ll just go get cleaned up then.”

Draco rolled his eyes again and squeezed his eyes shut in sheer frustration at his next words. “Never mind that. Just wash your hands up. Then you can tell me what you discovered that’s made you so giddy.” ~Wonderful. An entire night of boring Herbology babble. I hope the little bastard appreciates how tolerant I am. ~ 

Neville practically skipped to the dining room, making a side trip to a nearby lavatory to clean his hands.  
________________________________________________________________

“And that’s when you discovered me,” Neville concluded, stuffing the last bit of food on his plate into his mouth. Draco was amazed at how someone so hopeless in Potions had such amazing timing.

“Well,” Draco drawled, dragging a nail across the tablecloth, watching it ruck up in his wake. “So, the big finale of all that is simply ‘you liked the gardens’, correct?” He could have kicked himself when he watched Neville’s face fall.

“Er, yes that’s it,” Neville agreed in a voice just above a whisper. Silence lay over the table like a fog. Eventually, Neville cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco frowned. “For what?”

Neville shrugged, looking slightly confused. “I really don’t know. I guess for wasting time in your gardens. For making you come after me. For boring you with Herbology all dinner long.” He dropped his gaze to the table. “Mostly, I suppose for just being me. I know how much you dislike me and I spent most of dinner practically shoving the reasons why in your face, didn’t I?”

Draco shoved back the plate he’d been toying with. “Longbottom,” he began and then he faltered when Neville’s sad eyes met his. “Just…” he growled. “Never mind. Feel free to play in the gardens as often as you like. I never go in there and the house-elves have been known to get lost or eaten. Perhaps you can do something about that.”

Neville’s eyes began to fill up again with that unnamable emotion that sent Draco’s heart to fluttering. “You know,” Draco added casually. “Should you ever get your business up and running, I’d be happy to offer you some starts of whatever you might need.” He was disturbingly pleased to see the delight and excitement begin to radiate from the Gryffindor’s face.

“Really?” Neville nearly bounced. “That would be the most amazing thing. Thank you so much Draco.”

Draco waved him off. Really, what did offering a few weeds cost him if he could endear the little prat to him just a bit more. The tiny voice in his head that sounded distressingly like Gillum rather rudely informed him that it would cost him nothing…if that were actually what he was doing it for.

Neville seemed more inclined to just sit and talk after finishing his dinner this time. They chatted about the panes of glass in the Greenhouse, about which plants ate the house-elves and then Neville mentioned again how sorry he was to have disturbed Draco today by not attending dinner at a timely hour. “What did I take you away from?” he asked.

“I spend my every moment lately looking for a cure,” Draco answered wryly. “One that is quicker than waiting for you to appreciate how much better your life would be if you’d just fall in love with me already.”

Draco didn’t understand why, but Neville’s face fell again. “Is that why you’re offering me your garden?” he asked quietly. “Because you think I’ll fall for you faster if you give me access to something I’m passionate about?”

Draco flushed, not because that was exactly what he’d just been telling himself, but rather because that wasn’t quite the truth anymore. Neville, however, couldn’t know that. Instead, the Gryffindor slowly pushed away from the table and stood. 

“Generous as it was, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer to make use of the gardens again.”

Draco gaped in confused frustration. “What? Why?”

Neville turned his back and headed for the door. “When you can figure that out for yourself, Draco, you can offer the gardens again.” And the door swung shut behind him.

Neville fought the urge to hide in his room all day. He forced himself out of bed and into the shower. He forced himself to walk through the portrait room, as he now referred to it, and say good morning to the Ladies Narcissa and Amelia and to Casper. From their concerned expressions, he realized he wasn’t putting on much of a show. Sighing, he resolved to try harder and went in search of a house-elf to practice on.

After breakfast, he asked Gillum to take him to the library. A searching look and slow nod later and the elf trotted down another maze of hallways to a set of mahogany double doors. Surprisingly, for their size, they swung open easily and Neville stepped into the largest library he’d seen next to Hogwarts. He browsed for a bit, ignoring the Darker books and anything to do with Potions. Finally, he chanced upon the Herbology section and happily picked a book at random, plopping down on a leather couch to peruse it.

Sometime later, he looked up at a sound and caught his breath as Draco Malfoy stormed into the library. Neville was struck by how utterly human he still appeared. Fur and claws and angry snarls aside, Draco still moved like he always had…a flowing stride that had always reminded Neville of walking on water. And though the fur covered Draco’s whole body, it was still the glorious white blonde of his head hair…and still looked as sleek and smooth to the touch. And of course, the eyes didn’t change at all. Neville noticed that he sometimes forgot he was talking to a ‘monster’ when he just looked into Draco’s eyes.

Those eyes that were now turned on him in surprise. Neville nodded politely and smiled. “Draco. Good morning.”

Draco frowned but in the end, his manners pulled through. “Good morning, Longbottom,” he said stiffly. “What are you doing in here?”

Neville held his book up. “Just browsing a bit. I found some interesting herbology books I’d never seen before.” 

He nearly giggled at the huge eye roll Draco performed. “Bloody hell, Longbottom. Don’t you ever do anything that hasn’t to do with plants?”

Neville shook his head, no longer bothering to hide his grin. “Nope. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Everything else just blows up in my face.” Draco shared a smile with him at that remembered truth and moved to one of the Dark sections, pulling a book from the shelf without even looking at the title. He flinched a bit as he stretched and took a tiny moment to hunch over his stomach.

Neville’s eyes didn’t miss it. “How goes the pregnancy?” he asked pointedly.

Draco flinched. “It’s horrible. I ache everywhere. I have to use the lav 15 times a day. I can’t stretch too far or bend too much. I’m nauseous and headachy and tired all the time.” He gave a start and shot a look towards Neville as if he just realized that he was spilling his guts about something so personal to another person. “But I suppose all that’s normal, right?” he finished lamely.

Neville placed the book on a table and stood. “You don’t know?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Draco frowned…and began fidgeting. “Well, I’ve been spending most of my time trying to break this curse,” he admitted. “I haven’t really paid much attention to the whole pregnancy part of it.”

Neville smiled and crossed his arms. “I thought as much. You realize, Draco, that your curse is permanent and will be there for quite some time. You can afford to let it ride for a few days. Your pregnancy, however, is not permanent. You will have to give birth someday soon and it may behoove you to know what to expect when that happens.”

Draco glared. “My curse is not permanent. I will find a way out of this. And I do not intend to waste a single moment of time researching anything about this dammed brat!”

Neville just nodded and continued to stare fixedly at the Slytherin. Draco began to fidget again. The silence grew heavier and heavier and Draco grew more and more distressed. Eventually, Neville took pity on him. “All right. You keep looking for a cure to your curse,” he said. “I’ll spend today looking up anything you have on male pregnancies and fill you in at dinner,” he offered. Draco looked a bit startled at the offer of help, but agreed with a brief nod and clutched his book to his chest, backing out of the room. Neville grinned and went searching.

That night at dinner, Draco was almost hesitant to come. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something for him. Even if it was only a bit of reading, Neville had not only done it…he had suggested it in the first place to make Draco’s life easier. He immediately began looking for Neville’s motives and then wanted to kick himself when, after a wasted hour of his own research time spent thinking about the idiot boy, he realized that Neville had no agenda. He was simply a nice person doing a good deed.

Neville began regaling Draco with tales of past male pregnancies almost immediately and with great interested glee. He stopped just as quickly as he realized that, even under the fur, Malfoy was turning green. After the last bit of food had been consumed, he began again, grin firmly in place.

“Actually, everything you’ve told me seems perfectly normal for your stage of pregnancy,” he assured the Slytherin. “However, due to the delicate nature of your artificial womb, I’d suggest seeing a mediwitch as soon as possible.”

Draco actually snarled. Neville looked frightened for a moment and then his brows furrowed as Draco made his point very succinctly. “I will not leave this house.”

“Well, then have one come here,” Neville returned impatiently. “You’ve certainly the money for that.”

Draco crossed his arms over his stomach. Neville was pretty sure he didn’t even know he was doing it. “I refuse to let anyone else see me like this. I have no desire to wind up in the Daily Prophet. Malfoy Cursed. Bears Bastard Child. I think not,” he groused.

Neville sighed. “Surely you can find one who’s confidential. And don’t families like yours have personal mediwitches anyway?” he realized. “Where is yours?”

Draco looked embarrassed. “I fired her. And the rest of the staff because they spied for the Dark Lord. There’s no one in the employ of this household save the house-elves.”

“Well, I know some people at St. Mungo’s from visiting my parents there,” he offered. “Perhaps I can find someone who’d be discreet.”

Draco shoved away from the table. “No. Do you love me yet, Longbottom?”

Neville gaped in confusion. “N-no?” he asked.

Draco didn’t seem to notice. “Fine. Goodnight.” Tonight, Neville was the one staring at the door, as it swung shut.

The days passed quickly in quiet research. Draco found nothing helpful to cure his current curse. Of course, now he had another nasty group of curses to add to his arsenal, but he decided against mentioning that to Neville. The boy…man…was astounding. Apparently, Herbology was the only class he was able to float through, retaining knowledge like a vault. The other classes, he tended to retain knowledge like a sieve, having to revisit the information daily. Hence, his amazing study and research skills.

Neville was in the library, often before Draco, every day. He forced Draco to stop for meals and tea, citing that an expectant father needed to keep his health up. He begged…oh, all right. He asked nicely and Draco caved on the second request for the cursed man to research in the library with him. He stated it might even help Draco to be able to bounce ideas off of him. Draco knew, however, that Neville just wanted to keep an eye on him.

The sudden influx of information about Draco’s impending pregnancy seemed to galvanize Neville into taking on a mother hen role. Neville refused to share the worst parts with Draco, but there were some very frightening reasons why he began to obsessively stalk the Slytherin. He began to insist on retrieving books from high shelves, on staying late at dinner until Draco had managed to awkwardly eat whatever he allowed Neville to put on his plate, on sending Draco to bed at a decent hour and not letting him start researching before 9 a.m. Draco learned he might as well stay in bed for all of the pesky hovering Neville did should Draco rise at an earlier hour. Nothing got done. Nothing. Until Neville noted that it was past 9 a.m.

Draco managed to grit his teeth and accept Neville’s newfound bothersomeness. Save one item. Neville badgered him nearly everyday about finding a mediwitch to come to the manor. Telling the stubborn Gryffindor no didn’t work. Telling him he’d think about it didn’t work. Threatening to injure him worked, but only in as much it pissed Neville off to the nth degree and sent him on a stalk through the manor after flinging a (very priceless) book to the ground and telling Draco to bugger off.

Neville had stormed through the house, intent on getting as far away from that ungrateful sod as possible. He climbed stair after stair, hoping to get high enough that the dungeon dweller would refuse to follow. Eventually, he found a small passageway behind a door on the fourth floor. Carefully, he pushed the silent door open and ventured inside.

Astonished, he looked at the only normal room in the entire manor. Things were stacked haphazardly, furniture had covers over them, and even the window was a bit dirty. Neville rubbed his hands together and bounced on the couch. Gleefully grinning, he decided that this would be his new sanctuary when the desire to just strangle Draco got to be too much.

He sat there, reveling in the mess for nearly a quarter of an hour before his curiosity got the better of him. Then he began to explore. Most boxes held broken toys, the likes of which he’d never seen in person. He remembered the ads for some of them when he was a child, but there was no way his Gran could afford things like starter brooms and charmed fully functional plushy pets. Further inspection found more boxes of designer robes in child size. None of them had worn marks on them. Most of them, actually, looked brand new.

Frowning, he made a note in his head to ask Draco about donating some of these to charity. Some of the orphans of The War had little to nothing in the way of clothing, only wearing what donations and charity money could afford. And the toys? They looked simple enough to fix. Neville couldn’t understand why they weren’t fixed originally. Even he could probably fix one or two of them. 

He backed away warily. Not that he would try. He knew all too well what happened when he ‘tried’ something he was ‘pretty sure’ he could do. Disaster.

Moving away from the boxes, he noticed what appeared to be dozens of portraits stacked against each other and leaning on the wall. All faced the wall and Neville was curious how anything in a Malfoy house would allow itself to face a wall. Carefully, he pulled the first one back. Draco stared up at him, lips pursed and a sneer on his face.

“Oh, dear Merlin,” the portrait cried. “What the hell is a Longbottom doing in my home? Where are my parents? Get out, Longbottom! Before you break something!” Neville rolled his eyes and gently set the picture down against the wall next to the first pile. Facing the wall. “Longbottom! You turn me around right now!” it demanded. Neville just smiled and moved on to the next one.

They all turned out to be of Draco. Some were recent, and angrier. Some were from school, and mean. Some, though, were from Draco’s early years. Those, Neville set aside and those he went back to when he’d finished searching through the pile. He was pretty sure that Draco had ordered every picture of himself in the manor to be placed here. Or, more accurately, had probably ordered them destroyed and Gillum or another elf had brought them here, knowing that Master Draco would never set foot in this room. All the better for Neville.

He set the younger portraits up in a row and watched them watching him. “Hello,” he stated. “My name is Neville. Would you care to tell me how old each of you are?” The portraits attempted to look at each other past their frames. When that proved impossible, some of them displayed current Draco-like behavior. Neville noted that they were the more recent, probably age 9 or 10. He placed them back with the other pile facing the wall.

“Let’s try this again,” he said kindly to the remaining four portraits. “I’m Neville and you are how old?” He pointed to the first.

“I am 8,” Draco said primly, folding his hands together. 

Neville nodded. “And you?” he pointed to the next one. 

“I too am 8,” Draco stated, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Nearly 9. I demand to know the reasoning behind this questioning.”

Neville sighed and plucked the picture up to set it carefully beside the others against the wall. “Well, at least I know approximately when you turned into such a prat, Malfoy,” he stated under his breath. Returning to the other two, he smiled generously and repeated his question.

“I’m 6,” replied the first. 

“Four,” came the nearly silent reply from the last Draco.

“Do any of you know the name Longbottom?” he tried, still looking to narrow the playing field.

The oldest Draco pushed his lips into a moue of disgust. “The Longbottoms are poor purebloods. No better than the Weasleys, my father says.” 

Neville nodded sadly and returned the portrait. “Do either of you two know the name?” he asked, now almost warily.

The smallest shook his head and tears came to his eyes. “Please, sir. Put me back too?” he whimpered. “I’m afraid.”

Neville smiled gently at the littlest one and nodded. “Of course,” he agreed, handling the portrait with more care than he handled some of his plants. Then he returned to the couch, placing the last Malfoy in front of him. “Do you want to go back too?” he asked.

Six-year-old Draco shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no. I hate staring at the back of other portraits all day. I used to be able to look out in the gardens.”

Neville smiled. “The gardens are my favorite place too.”

Draco grinned. “When I grow up, I want to be a groundskeeper,” he said proudly. Neville nearly choked.

“Really? For here?”

Draco shook his head. “Nope. I want to work at Hogwarts. Mummy says it’s ever so much nicer than here.”

“Ah,” Neville replied, wondering if Draco remembered his childhood wish when he came to Hogwarts and that had been the reason he was so hard on Hagrid.

“I know who you are,” the boy said slyly.

Neville tensed warily. “Really. And who am I then, Draco?”

“You’re mummy’s true love, aren’t you?” the littlest Malfoy whispered.

Neville’s eyes widened. “She told you she was in love with my father?” he gaped.

Draco looked disappointed. “Your father?” he groused. “Rats. I thought you were making up that Neville name. Though it’s much nicer than Draco, don’t you think?” he continued as though he hadn’t rocked the very foundations of Neville’s world. “Normal. Not weird like Draco.”

Neville shrugged. “I’m rather fond of Draco, actually,” he smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Mummy says that all the time. Is she here?” he seemed to focus suddenly. “Is mummy here? I miss her so much. She used to come and talk to me all the time. Then she stopped and the elves put me up here. Aren’t house-elves neat?” he babbled on.

Neville grinned. “Well, your real mummy isn’t here,” he said, then quickly rushed on at the crestfallen look on the adorable 6-year-old face. “But I know where you can find something just as nice. Are you interested?”

Draco nodded so hard his frame rattled. Laughing, Neville picked it up and headed downstairs.  
_____________________________________________________________________________

He felt like he’d brought a family back together. Okay, so he’d placed two portraits across from each other and introduced them, but the absolute joy both had in meeting each other was so powerful that he felt like he could do anything…even face Draco again.

Sighing, he made his way back down to the library. He found Draco sitting at a desk, which rather surprised him. Neville though Draco would take advantage of the fact that Neville had taken off to rush back into hiding in his own room. Draco looked up when Neville came in and jumped to his feet, dropping the book in the chair.

“Neville,” he began, stiltingly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’re just trying to help me. I should be more appreciative.”

Neville sighed. “I don’t care if you’re appreciative, Draco,” he said quietly. “I just want you to be more concerned about your health.”

Draco dropped back into his chair. “I know. I just can’t stand the thought of anyone seeing me like this. Of someone who knew what I looked like before seeing what I’ve become.”

Neville took a seat next to him. “What about me?” he pointed out. “I see you like this everyday. And I knew what you looked like before.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “But you don’t care.” Neville raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “You don’t care what I look like, Longbottom,” Draco went on. “You don’t care how rich I am. You don’t care what I can give you. Mostly, your apathy is annoying, but in the case of my appearance, it’s actually been quite helpful.”

Neville grinned. “So, why do you think I don’t care?”

Draco shrugged. “I really have no idea.”

“I don’t care because I see who you are on the inside. And to be completely honest, Draco, this is what you’ve looked like on the inside for as long as I’ve known you.” Draco looked hurt. Then looked as though he were trying to cover that up.

“But you’re talking to me. You’re helping me. Why would you do that if you hated me?” he asked in confusion.

Neville smiled gently. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you. I said you had an ugly personality. But every one deserves a second chance, Draco. And that was really what Pansy gave you. Another chance.”

Draco growled. “What she gave me was a bloody ugly face and a parasite growing in my belly!”

Neville looked at him, disappointment evident. “She gave you the opportunity to change your inside to match your outside. To be as beautiful inside as you are out. It isn’t her fault that you continue to choose to have your insides look like that. And you are not infected. You are pregnant,” he added harshly, startling Draco with a tone he’d never heard from the boy before.

“You are carrying a new life. You have the opportunity to help that new life grow and experience the world around it. It would be a shame if you taught your child to hate and fear like your father taught you.”

Neville sat, glaring at Draco, for long minutes. Draco stared at his claws, eyes never meeting Neville’s. Finally, he stood and headed to the door. Neville couldn’t help shooting a last dig at him. “What? Aren’t you going to ask if I’m in love with you yet?” he spat.

Draco flinched but kept walking. “Why would you be? There’s nothing to love,” he returned quietly.

Neville began to worry after Draco had passed out for the third time in as many days. The Slytherin claimed that he was just pushing himself to exhaustion and finally falling asleep where he stood. Neville wondered at the validity of that statement as he’d been nagging Draco for weeks on just that. Why would the highly intelligent Malfoy choose to use that as an excuse? Unless, the truth were worse.

Neville followed Draco after that, sneaking behind him as he went to the loo, tiptoeing around as he wandered into the kitchen for a snack. And finally, Draco did it again. He passed out on the way to the lavatory. The difference in his story and what Neville saw was in the agonized expression on Draco’s face as he fell to his knees. It was in the tiny whimpers released from pinched lips. It was in the unwitting sob that escaped Draco’s throat as he curled around his belly and finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

When Draco awoke, he was a bit disconcerted to find himself in his bed, blankets pulled up to his chin and a stony faced Neville Longbottom staring at him in disappointment.

“You said you were just tired,” Neville stated coldly.

“I…er, I was tired,” Draco offered lamely. He sighed and tried to sink further into the bed. “And in pain,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not weak. I’m not. I’m a Malfoy,” he protested. “I should be able to handle this. Without the public’s knowledge of my curse or my pregnancy.”

Neville ran his hand over his face, 5 o’clock shadow apparent as he’d spent the whole day hovering over Draco’s bed. “Malfoy, you are the most stubborn idiot I know,” he growled. “You are aware that you are giving Harry Potter a run for his money, aren’t you?” Draco looked highly offended and Neville couldn’t help but snicker at his horrified expression.

“I need to find someone who can help you,” he said softly. “You have to let me go back to civilization and find a mediwitch. You have to, Draco.”

Draco rolled his head away from Neville. “Fine,” he bit out. “I don’t suppose you’ll let it drop now that you’ve found me out.”

Neville shook his head wryly. “Not a chance in hell, Draco.”

Draco nodded and continued to stare at the wall. “Perhaps you can see your friends while you’re there,” he said hesitantly. “You’ve been here a long time, I’m sure you’re missing them.” Neville searched his face for signs of a joke and found none.

“Yes, I do miss my friends,” he acknowledged. “And my Gran.”

“You should go. See them. Find a mediwitch.” Draco’s voice sounded forced even to him.

“All right,” Neville agreed hesitantly. “But I’ll be back soon. I can’t imagine it would take more than a couple of days to find someone with the credentials and who is discreet.” 

Draco winced. “You’ll be gone overnight?” he whispered.

Neville looked down worriedly at him. “Do you need someone to stay with you while I’m gone? I can make arrangements. So you won’t be alone in case something happens?”

Draco smiled thinly and shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine. I…I guess I just got used to you here, in the house. It’ll be strange with you gone.”

Neville reached over and took Draco’s furry paw in his hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Draco,” he whispered, stroking the soft fur. “I promise I’ll have someone to help you.”

“Yeah, all right,” Draco nodded. “Hey,” he called as Neville stood to leave the room. Neville turned back with an inquisitive glance. “You in love with me yet, Longbottom?” Draco asked, realizing as he did that he might want it to be true for more than the original reason. Neville just grinned and walked out the door. Too quickly to notice a minute change in Draco’s appearance. The fur grew a bit shorter and Draco’s fangs didn’t seem quite as sharp. But then, Draco didn’t notice either. He only had eyes for the Gryffindor.

“Come back to me, Neville,” he whispered when the door had shut. “Please don’t forget to come back to me.”

Less than an hour later, Gillum handed Neville a portkey that he stated came straight from Draco’s hand. A gorgeous piece, it had thinly cast silver dragon wings that wrapped around the wearer’s finger. Gillum left him with explicit instructions that turning it three times to the left would take him to Hogsmeade. Turning it three turns to the right would return him to Malfoy Manor.

Neville smiled and gave in to impulse, petting the little elf’s ear. “I’ll be back with the best help that Draco’s money can buy.” Gillum nodded, his huge eyes watering, and stepped back to wave goodbye. Neville spun the ring on his finger and when he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d shut, he was in Hogsmeade.  
____________________________________________________________

Neville dropped down onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Staring up at the familiar stone ceiling, he thought about everything that had happened this morning. After practically running from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts, he had arrived in front of Dumbledore’s office. He was fully prepared to go through every candy he’d ever heard of to get the damn thing open, but he wound up not having to.

The door opened in front of him revealing Harry and Hermione accompanied by Albus Dumbledore himself. Their reunion had been swift and sweet for, though he desperately wanted to catch up with the two newest Hogwarts professors, he wanted even more desperately to do something to help Draco. He promised to meet them for dinner that evening and then quickly brushed them off, ushering Dumbledore back into his office.

Three cups of tea and enough sherbet lemons to choke a Thestral later, Dumbledore sat with hands steepled and a concerned look on his face. “I’d suggest our very own Poppy Pomfrey,” Dumbledore stated. “She is familiar with male pregnancy and is the soul of discretion. Perhaps you should speak with her.”

Neville nodded. “I will sir. I’m just worried,” he hesitated, “I don’t want you to be without a mediwitch but I’m pretty sure she’ll be spending a bit of time with Draco.”

Dumbledore smiled widely. “Oh, I’d not worry about that. We have a new mediwitch doing her practicals. I’m sure Miss Weasley would be delighted to have the infirmary to herself for a bit.”

Neville’s jaw dropped. “Ginny is a mediwitch at Hogwarts?” he squeaked.

“Most certainly,” came the chuckled reply. “And anyway, Poppy would have my beard should I not allow her to help a former student. Just between you and I,” he leaned forward towards Neville conspiritally, “Poppy has a bit of an obsession with making sure her ‘children’ are all well and happy.”

Indeed, when Neville approached her an hour later, she was thrilled beyond all measure at being asked and immediately concerned about Draco’s lack of health care thus far. She grilled Neville for nearly 45 minutes straight on every symptom and twinge that Draco had experienced. He was so relieved to see Ginny when she interrupted them that he swung her in a brief circle of welcome.

Poppy waved them off at that point, falling into her medical books in a search for an answer to both the problem pregnancy and the curse and Ginny dragged Neville off to dinner with Harry and Hermione.

He knew that his friends had always been considerate of his need for avoidance. Never did that come into play so obviously as when Hermione asked where he’d been for the last few weeks. After Neville had blanched and stuttered over what was clearly an unsatisfactory response, Harry clapped him on the back and grinned. “Doesn’t matter where you’ve been, Nev. Just matters that you’re here now.” That had set the tone for the rest of the rather enjoyable evening.

And so now, he lay on the bed in a spare room in Gryffindor tower, compliments of Dumbledore, and he thought about what had brought him here. Neville knew that, near squib or no, he had the heart of a Gryffindor. Even though he might faint on occasion (but he hadn’t done that for the last few weeks) and he was never the first to volunteer for anything (excluding the original trip to Malfoy Manor) and he wasn’t exactly the most forceful of past Gryffindors (though he’d managed quite nicely to make Draco see reason and let him go looking for help). 

Hmmm. Well, maybe it was just Draco. Draco seemed to bring out who Neville really was. He was quite aware that he should be terrified of the ‘monster’, but all he could see was the pained look in those gray eyes when he watched Neville using utensils at the dinner table or flipping through a book. All he could see was the tiny smile and nod of thanks as Neville offered to help research. All he could see was the agony in Draco’s eyes as something else went wrong with the pregnancy, something that not only hurt like hell but that neither one of them could identify.

All he could see was the sad desperation in Draco’s eyes at the realization that Neville was indeed leaving. 

Neville fell asleep to that look. He woke with a new determination to see this through, to get Draco the help he needed, and to stand by him no matter what the outcome. 

The next morning Neville sat at the head table with the other staff. He smiled at Harry and Hermione, pretending he was actually listening to them, and pushed his food around on his plate and tried to replace his friends in his head with Draco. After breakfast, he headed to the infirmary but was waylaid by Dumbledore. Giving a polite smile, he none-the-less sighed before following the headmaster up to his office.

As Neville obediently slipped into the sitting room, the sound of a chair scraping on the floor drew his attention. He glanced up and stopped dead. “Gran!” The smile on his face was suddenly real and he dove towards the older woman, arms flung out.

He pushed back after a long hug and beamed at her. “What are you doing here?” he asked happily.

“Well, the headmaster let us know that you’d surfaced from that…house,” she said disapprovingly, letting him know that Hogwarts should have been the second stop on his journey.

Neville shook his head in apology and replied softly, “Sorry, Gran. It was important that I get here as quickly as possible to speak to Madam Pomfrey.”

His gran gave him the searching look that he’d always dreaded as a child. It stripped away all of his defenses and left his soul bare for her perusal. She could tell at a glance what he felt, what he thought. He used to hate it. Now, he just smiled peacefully at her and let her look her fill. Apparently, she liked what she saw because she smiled back and nodded.

“Well, that’s fine then,” she accepted his offering and if she blinked a bit rapidly to clear her eyes, no one mentioned it.

“Neville!”

Neville flinched. 

“How have you been coping?” Morgan flung his arms around the unresponsive young man. “We were so worried! Is that monster…did it harm you?” Morgan asked apprehensively as he stepped back, subtly wiping his hands off on his trousers. Neville could, however, see a glint of hopefulness in the gaze.

The Gryffindor smirked. “No, Morgan,” he drawled, an impressive impersonation of the man he’d been living with for weeks. “As a matter of fact, it didn’t hurt…at all.” He winked. Morgan’s jaw dropped and Neville could have sworn that he heard two distinctively different snorts from behind him.

“S-so the m-monster really wanted to…” Morgan’s voice faded out as a horrified look formed on his face.

Neville couldn’t keep a straight face. He snorted. “For Merlin’s sake, Morgan,” he rolled his eyes. “What kind of a idiot are you?” Morgan narrowed his eyes. “The ‘monster’ is a man with a curse on him. He’s not evil. He didn’t try to eat me or kill me…or shag me, thank you very much.”

“Well, I…I knew that,” Morgan blustered. “I now know who it is. I did a bit of research. Draco Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Neville glanced at his Gran whose eyes widened a bit. “Yes, it is indeed Draco Malfoy,” he sighed in agreement. “Sit down, Gran. I have a lot to tell you.”  
______________________________________________________________________

Morgan surreptitiously wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth as Neville finished with his tale of wonder. Malfoy sounded rich as hell! Perhaps the fancy house wasn’t just for show. Perhaps, too, he’d been just a bit hasty in pushing ickle Nevikins at the very rich and single man who just wanted someone to love him. Morgan gave a silent snort. For that kind of money, he’d fall in love and then follow it up with a shag…furry arse or no.

“Neville,” he cooed. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through all of that. To be cooped up with such a nasty man who just wants to use you.” He gently patted Neville’s arm. “I understand that I was wrong to ask you to take my place. It wasn’t fair to you. You belong here, with Gran. She needs you.” He looked pained as he dropped his eyes to the floor, thereby missing Gran’s eye roll and Dumbledore’s grin.

“I’ll go back in your stead,” he puffed up his chest bravely. “I’ll face my punishment like a man.”

“Er,” Neville pulled his arm back pointedly. “It’s not really punishment, Morgan. And I kind of like it there,” he added. “He’s not really so awful as I once thought. He’s trying to be a better person. He really is. And anyway, I promised to go back in a couple of days. I can’t break my promise.” He shook his head. “No, Morgan. You just stay where you are. Keep Gran company and let me deal with this.”

Morgan glowered but nodded brusquely. “Fine. If you think that best, Cousin,” he bit off.

“Oh, I do,” Neville smirked. “I really, truly do.”  
_______________________________________________________________________

Morgan was determined to undermine Neville’s good fortune. He dropped pointed hints on an hourly basis about Gran’s failing health. He recited lists of things falling apart at the house and sadly admitted to his own inability to fix them. He plied Harry and Hermione with sob stories and begged them to have Neville see reason. Finally, he tried to sneak off to Malfoy Manor on his own while Neville was distracted with helping Pomfrey gather information.

Unfortunately for Morgan, he chose to sneak off out of the apparating boundary by way of Hagrid’s Hut. Fang brought him back, drool covered and having tremors whilst babbling something about giant spiders. Morgan spent the rest of the day in the infirmary under a great deal of calming potion. That night, Neville fell asleep still grinning at the picture Morgan made covered in boarhound slobber and forest floor dirt. His dreams didn’t stay quite as happy. 

He wandered down the path to the lake, loving the warm breeze as it fluffed his hair and the gentle chirping of birds from all around him. He heard a noise off the path and moved to investigate. The noise became clearer as he moved closer. It was moans of pain. Neville tore through the foliage to get to the injured person. He really wasn’t surprised to find Draco.

The blond man looked like he had in school, beautiful and regal. All except for the blood pooling around him, staining his blond hair pink and his pale skin red. Neville raced up and fell to his knees next to him. “Draco!” he called, tears roughening his voice. “Draco, please! What happened?”

Draco opened pain filled eyes, his lashes fluttering slowly. When he caught sight of Neville, he smiled faintly. “You came,” he said breathily.

“Yes!” Neville agreed, his voice cracking. “Of course I came. I’ll always come for you. Always. Please, Draco! What happened?”

Draco blinked slowly. “You’d forgotten to come back to me,” he whispered.

Neville shot straight up in bed and stared at the stone walls surrounding him. A moment later found him flinging his covers off and throwing on his clothes from the day before. He snatched up his shoes, in too much of a hurry to stop and put them on, and raced out of the tower past confused teenagers. He didn’t stop running until he had slammed into the infirmary doors.

“Madam Pomfrey!” he shrieked. The woman came running from a back room, worry written all over her face.

“Neville? What on earth is it, boy?” she demanded, searching him for injury.

“No! Not me,” he cried. “You have to come now. Now! It can’t wait. He’s hurt. I know it! Please, come!” he begged, pulling her closer to the fireplace with each pleading word.

“All right, my boy. I’m coming.” She turned back to her office, holding up a hand as Neville protested the wait. “If he is indeed in as bad of shape as you believe, I’ll need my bag,” she pointed out. 

Neville hated waiting, but he had to agree with her. Less than five minutes later, she was ready. He snatched up a handful of floo powder and yelled, “Malfoy Manor!” The floo deposited him in the main sitting room and he quickly stepped out of the fire for the mediwitch to come stepping out a moment later.

“I’ll check his room,” he shouted, racing off. “I don’t think he’s there, but it can’t hurt. I’ll be right back!” As he ran, he yelled for Gillum. The small house-elf appeared directly in front of Neville, nearly causing a disaster in the middle of the hall. “Gillum, where is he?” he cried, skidding to a halt.

The elf wrung its fingers. “Oh, Master Neville,” he sniffled. “Master Draco is outside somewhere. He told us not to leave the house but he hasn’t come back for the longest time.”

Neville gently petted the elf on the top of the head. “It’s okay, Gillum. I’m here now. And I brought a mediwitch. Draco will be fine.” Gillum nodded and disappeared. Neville turned on a dime and began racing back the way he came. “He’s outside,” he shouted as he passed Pomfrey. He was surprised to find the old mediwitch keeping up with him as he bolted out the main doors.

Giving into the memory of his dream, he headed out to the lake. It was almost like déjà vu. He heard the moans. He broke through the bushes. He found Draco lying in a pool of blood. Granted, it wasn’t the Draco from their school years, but neither was it the furry beast that Neville had left behind two days ago. Unlike the dream as well, Draco was unconscious.

Madam Pomfrey went to work immediately. She cast spell after spell on the bleeding body before her. Poured potion after potion down Draco’s throat. Neville could only sit, holding Draco’s hand and try to keep from crying. He didn’t manage that part very well. Finally, Pomfrey sighed and sat back. 

“He’s stable,” she stated. “Let’s get him back to the house and in bed.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________

Draco went into bed. Neville stationed himself next to the bed. He sat holding Draco’s hand, silently begging him to wake and forgive him. Forgive him for being too late, for not forcing the issue of getting help earlier, for not making sure there was someone to stay with Draco when he left. He berated himself over and over, wishing he could do something…anything that would take this pain from Draco.

So focused on his internal self-flagellation was he that he didn’t notice sleepy gray eyes fluttering open until Draco smiled at him. “You came back,” Draco said happily, only to have his smile turn into a frown when Neville flinched at the familiar words. “What’s wrong?” Draco demanded, trying to sit up and wincing in pain.

“Sit still, you stubborn bastard,” Neville choked out, gently shoving Draco back onto the bed.

“What’s wrong, Neville?” Draco asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice.

“You…” Neville couldn’t meet his eyes. “You had a miscarriage,” he whispered. “You lost the baby.” Silence met his words and he put off glancing up as long as he could, but in the end, he had to see Draco’s reaction. The blonde was staring at their entwined hands. “Draco?” Neville asked softly.

Draco looked up at Neville, tears in his eyes and a wry twist to his lips. “I didn’t want it, you know,” he whispered. “I never wanted it. I hated it. I hated that Pansy forced it on me. Until you yelled at me that night.” He clutched tightly at Neville’s hand. “Then, it started to be something else. It started to be an opportunity for me to be a better person.” A small smile escaped through the tears. 

“But I kept thinking that I was turning it from a burden into an excuse. My father lived vicariously through me, trying to make me into the perfect death eater, into Voldemort’s perfect lieutenant. Wasn’t I planning on doing the same thing with this baby? Living through it? Making sure it was pure and good and never let darkness touch it?” He looked up at Neville, who couldn’t stop his own flood of tears from washing down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry the baby died,” Draco said quietly. “I hope you don’t think I’m selfish, though, when I say I’m not sure if I’m sorry I didn’t have it. I don’t think I’m ready for a baby. And it’s better for any baby that I have to come into my life after I’ve figured out how badly I’ve fucked it up and have attempted to fix it.”

Neville wiped away a stray tear that had fallen out of Draco’s eye and caught in the fur at the corner. “I’m sorry the baby died, too, Draco,” he said softly. “But I agree with you that you weren’t ready for a child. And I don’t think you’re being selfish to recognize that. I do think, however, that when you choose to be a parent, that you’ll be amazing.”

Draco smiled weakly up at him. “Really?” he asked in a small voice.

Neville nodded. “Really. Sleep now. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Draco looked fragile. “Really?” he repeated.

Neville wanted to cry again. “Really.”

When next Draco awoke, it was morning. Madam Pomfrey had given Neville a list of potions to force onto Draco and he was determined to make the protesting man drink every last one of them. Gillum popped in and out of the room bringing them breakfast in bed and refills on coffee and pumpkin juice and wishes of speedy recovery from the rest of the elves.

Draco seemed amazed that the elves would care. Neville just grinned and told him of the ritual the elves had given him upon his decision to remain in the house. “They miss having someone to take care of,” Neville shrugged. “Of course they’re going to mother hen you to death until they get you all better.”

Draco grinned at the oxymoron and took another sip of his juice. Neville looked carefully at him. He looked a bit better. Less peaked, more lively. And surprisingly, less bestial. The fur was receding on the rest of his body, making the line of Draco’s original hair more obvious. 

“Hey, can I ask you a favor?” Neville broached after a bit.

Draco nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

“Do you think you’d be willing to come and see your mum some time?”

Draco stiffened immediately. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” Neville assured him, a bit of disappointment coloring his voice.

Draco gave a sigh and the tension left his body slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said slowly. “I’m just…afraid. What if I’m someone she can’t like? It’s bad enough that my real mother can’t stand me. I don’t know what I’d do if the bloody portrait hated me as well.”

Neville nodded in understanding and smiled. “I get it, Draco. Really, I do. But I can tell you that she won’t hate you,” he added softly. “And what better way to start mending the rift between you and your real mum than by practicing on your portrait mum. They are the same person you know. Narcissa Black is still deep inside of Narcissa Malfoy. And I know they will listen to you. And they will understand. And, Draco, they will love you.”

Draco gave a tiny smile. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll go visit her. Just…”

Neville captured his hand. “It doesn’t have to be today,” he said soothingly. 

Draco nodded vigorously. “So,” he changed the subject quickly. “How are the plant plans coming along?”

Neville grinned at the obvious topic change but played along. “Still on hold, waiting for the scads of money that are sure to fall out of the sky,” he joked. “How about you?”

“How about me, what?” Draco asked, confused.

“Well, if you were to go about setting up a Potions business, what would you sell? How would you go about it?”

“I…I don’t really know,” admitted Draco. “I’ve never considered it. It’s always been a pipe dream. You’re the first person I actually shared it with, to be honest,” he said shyly.

Neville smiled, a prickle of pleasure in his chest at that small fact. “Well, you could start it from home. You certainly have the room. You can get all the supplies you need and the books from Diagon Alley, or even Knockturn, I suppose.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, which was actually discernable against the body fur now. “Knockturn Alley, eh?” he smirked. 

Neville gently smacked his arm. “Shut it, Malfoy. Anyway, what the hell else have you been doing these last few weeks? Somehow your ‘empire’ has gone on just fine while you’ve wasted away in your study looking up obscure references to curses. If you had spent time working on potions, just imagine how far ahead you could be right now?”

“I…I guess I could,” he said, a bit of awe in his voice. “Thank you, Neville. I never considered it a possibility before. But when you say it, it makes perfect sense.”

Neville grinned. “That’s what friends do for each other. Point out the obvious.”

Draco’s eyes melted into pools of soft gray. “Is that what we are?” he murmured. “Friends?”

Neville nodded. “If you like. I’d be honored to be your friend, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco smiled that tiny smile. “I’d be honored to have you, Neville Longbottom.”  
______________________________________________________________________

Two weeks later, Neville was once again seated at the dining room table waiting for Draco. When the blond man burst through the door, Neville looked up with a smile. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Draco grinned. “I got my first order today!”

Neville jumped up immediately and flung his arms around him. “That’s great!” he said excitedly. “I’m so proud of you!”

Draco nearly preened. “Here,” he held out a piece of parchment. “This is a list of potions I’m offering at the moment.”

Neville glanced over the list as he sat back down. A moment later and he was looking back up at Draco, eyebrow raised. “There sure are a lot of potions on this list that require special ingredients. Mostly plants,” he added wryly.

Draco grinned sheepishly. “Well, I was kind of hoping that a certain herbology master would help me out on that end.”

Neville smiled. “I’m not a master, Draco,” he pointed out.

Draco glared. “You could be. If you wanted. You’re bloody brilliant. And I don’t care if you don’t have the credentials to back it up. I know you’re master potential and on that note, I was hoping that if I provide you with the space and the starts for the plants, several of which I have right here, or could get much quicker than you, you could go right into business. You could repay me by growing and harvesting some of the ingredients I need for my potions. It’s a win-win deal, Nev. I’m really not trying to buy you this time. I just want to help. It’s what friends do, right?”

He finally had to stop to take in air and found Neville grinning at him like a loon. “What?” Draco asked self-consciously.

“Yeah, okay,” was Neville’s only reply.

“Really?” Draco nearly squealed.

“Really.” 

Draco lunged out of his chair and flung his arms around the Gryffindor. “You won’t regret this, Nev,” he promised. 

Neville pulled away enough to look Draco in the eye. “I know I won’t,” he whispered just before lifting his lips to Draco’s. The small bit of fur left on Draco’s face tickled but Neville was more focused on the warm, perfect coming-home feeling he got from the gentle press of lip on lip. Slowly, he pulled back and met Draco’s wide eyes.

“Wh-what was that for?” Draco whispered.

Neville shrugged. “You know. I seem to recall a certain question I grew rather fond of. I haven’t heard it in a while,” he pointed out.

Draco flushed and pulled away, shaking his head. “I can’t, Nev,” he said sadly. “I get it now. I can’t buy love. I have to earn it.”

Neville reached out and pulled him back in against him, standing up to look him straight in the eye. “And how do you know if you’ve earned it if you stop asking?’ Neville demanded quietly.

He could see the comprehension begin to dawn in Draco’s eyes. “A-are you in love with me yet?” his words barely audible.

Neville smiled at him, everything he felt shining forth in his eyes. “Yeah, Draco. I am.”

He leaned forward to kiss Draco again, but when their lips touched this time, a brilliant light shot from between the two men. Neville flinched backwards only managing to open his eyes back up when he heard Draco yelp. Squinting, Neville was able to make out Draco’s form on the floor. Beginning to panic, he dropped to his knees and lifted Draco’s head into his lap.

“Draco!” he cried. “Draco, are you oka—Draco?” he asked in awe. “Y-you’re back! The curse…it’s gone!”

The blond man reached up and carefully felt cheeks free of fur for the first time in months. “I’m back,” he laughed up at Neville. “I’m really back!”

Neville planted a kiss on Draco’s smooth forehead and laughed with him. “Wow, I guess that curse really did need someone to fall in love with you.” 

Draco shook his head, his own eyes shining back at Neville. “No. While you were gone to Hogwarts, I found the answer.”

“You found…well, why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Neville demanded, a bit hurt.

Draco shook his head. “The curse was a reflection of me. Either Pansy lied or she didn’t really read it well. It was never about getting you to fall in love with me. It was about me letting myself fall in love with you.”

Neville looked confused by the logic, but slightly mollified by the explanation. “But it happened when I told you I loved you.”

Draco smiled and shook his head again. “No, it happened when you kissed me afterward. When I realized that you really did love me. When I realized that I had nothing to lose by admitting that I love you back.”

Neville grinned slyly. “So you love me, hmmm?”

Draco nodded. 

“You willing to spend your life with me telling me that every day?”

Draco beamed and nodded again.

“You willing to tell your mum that?” Neville grinned.

Draco nodded, rolling his eyes. “She actually knew before me. She and Amelia have apparently had a bit of a bet going on pertaining to when I’d finally get the balls to tell you how I felt.”

Neville grinned. “I knew I liked those ladies.” He looked deeply into Draco’s eyes and brushed a lock of blonde hair off of his forehead. “You maybe willing to give that baby thing another shot?” he asked a little shyly

Draco grinned and Neville felt a weight lift in his heart. “You willing to carry it this time?” Draco joked.

Neville stuck his tongue out. “Yup, I could do that,” he agreed with a loving smack on Draco’s arm. “Same old Malfoy,” he sighed dramatically.

Draco caught Neville’s hand. “Same old Malfoy, maybe. But thanks to you, a brand new Draco.” 

And he moved forward to take possession of Neville’s lips.

~Fin.~


End file.
